17. Leah #2
The Lord of Malice stops when he sees us, lips parting in surprise as he takes in what I’m wearing.
I barely thought about the dress when I put it on—it’s not as if I’m going to run into anyone in Malice who knows me—but under his eyes, I feel exposed in it, conscious of the way the neckline scoops low, showing off my collarbone and the curve of my breasts.
I tug my loose hair forward so the red waves spill over my chest, covering some of the bare skin.
Syrus’s jaw clenches, and his hands ball into fists at his sides. He drags his gaze from me to Asterim. “Where are you taking her?”
I’ve gotten to know his voice far too well over the last month, so I can’t help but notice the unusual roughness in it now. He must be really pissed off, and I turn to Asterim, my throat tight with panic.
“I thought you got his permission for this?”
Except now I think about it, she didn’t actually say she had. I take a step back, staring at the red flaring in Syrus’s eyes. He has to know this wasn’t my idea.
“I’m taking her into the city for a night of fun,” Asterim says firmly. “You can’t keep her cooped up here for weeks on end. She’ll lose the will to live.”
“No she won’t,” he says. “She’ll survive.” There’s an odd certainty in his tone that makes it sound like he’s saying more. She won’t, because that’s not who she is.
“Maybe,” Asterim says. “But it’s not like it’ll do any harm for her to have a night out, and I want company, since someone won’t ever come out with me,” she says, giving him a pointed stare.
“She’s not some doll for you to dress up, Aster,” he snaps.
Oh, and he hasn’t been using me as his plaything?
His eyes flick toward me and away again. He seems determined not to look at me too long, like he won’t be able to control his anger if he does.
“I won’t let you drag her along on one of your wild adventures,” he continues. “I’ve made myself clear on this.”
It has a finality to it that clearly riles Asterim, the petite demon putting a hand on her hip and striding up to him. I hold my breath, struck by the size difference between them. He looks like he could crush her with one hand.
“I’m not taking her on one of my adventures,” Asterim says, her voice powerful for someone so small.
“We won’t be out all night, and we won’t be going anywhere dicey.
I’m talking about a few hours in the most reputable dance hall in town so she doesn’t throw herself from the battlements in a fit of melancholy.
I will show her a good time, and I will make sure nothing happens to her. Have I made myself clear?” she asks.
Syrus’s eyes narrow, and then, still refusing to look at me, he spins on his heel and walks away.
Asterim’s triumphant smile doesn’t dim all the way to the carriage waiting for us outside. Which is being pulled by kelaryn, the demons’ winged horses. So much for my hopes that I wouldn’t be flying anywhere this evening.
They do make the journey go by quickly though. We soar over the mountains and are clattering down onto the streets of Malice in twenty minutes, which is about how long it takes my stomach to stop doing flips from the carriage’s swaying even after we stop.
“You look like you need a drink, my dear,” Asterim says as she slips from the vehicle.
We’re outside a building with a series of stone columns out front, supporting an elegant triangular portico.
The dance hall’s wide wooden doors are flung open, golden lamplight spilling onto the street from inside, accompanied by music and laughter.
Suddenly, I’m nervous. There’s a whole host of demons in there, ones that aren’t under strict instructions not to harm the Lord of Malice’s pet human, and I’m expected to go socialize?
“Don’t worry, darling,” Asterim says, taking my hand and patting it. “Most of the demons in there are already far too tipsy to pay the slightest bit of attention to you.”
“And the rest?” I ask weakly.
Her face grows serious. “I meant what I said to Syrus. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
I nod, keeping my eyes down as she murmurs something to the burly demons posted on the door, then let her pull me inside.
Immediately, I feel more anonymous than when we were out on the street.
The hall is crowded with stylishly dressed demons of all shapes and sizes, but the dim lighting and wall of noise means Asterim and I barely draw anyone’s notice as we move between the press of bodies.
We pass a line of booths with soft seating along one wall, then stop at a long, polished counter, where a fanged barwoman greets Asterim like an old friend.
“What do you want to drink?” Asterim calls up at me.
“Er…anything!” I reply.
“A woman of adventure,” she grins. “I like it.”
I turn around to survey the room as she orders, watching the band in the corner and the dancers moving around the dance floor.
The music is strange and compelling. There’s an echo of the lively jigs you’d hear in Strata’s music halls, but a few of the musicians are playing a kind of hand drum I don’t recognize, and there’s a powerful, primal rhythm to it.
The dancing is different too. More free and loose.
Male and female demons move closely together, writhing to the beat.
A beat that reverberates right through my heart and—am I feeling that right?
—sending a prickle up the back of my neck.
Oh no.
“Having fun?” murmurs a sly voice in my mind.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
His presence slides deeper into my body, sending my pulse racing for a few seconds with the intensity of it. “Did you really think I’d let you roam around Malice, looking like that, without checking in?” he asks.
“There’s nothing wrong with how I look!” I protest.
“Exactly,” he purrs.
Asterim chooses that moment to shuffle over and hand me a tall, emerald-colored drink. The heat of a flush creeps up my neck, and I take a gulp to distract myself, nearly coughing when the strong alcohol hits the back of my throat.
“Steady now,” Syrus says, infuriatingly smug as he trails a touch along the base of my throat, soothing the burn there.
I exhale heavily. The only thing to do is ignore him until he gets bored, so I turn to Asterim with a smile. “This is good,” I say.
“What’s better is who I’ve just seen walk in,” she replies.
Then she descends into some gossip about various demons, pointing out who’s who and offering me entertaining tidbits about their indiscretions and petty feuds as I sip my drink.
Syrus stays mostly quiet for this, but I can feel him there at the back of my mind, lurking.
Eventually, one of Asterim’s acquaintances, a spindly demon with horns, spots her and starts to come over.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of her fast,” Asterim mutters. “I’ll tell them you’re a new mireborn I have to babysit.” She steps aside for a moment to greet the demon, leaving Syrus and me alone.
“Are you going to dance?” he asks, clearly noticing the way my gaze follows the moving bodies over by the band. I wonder if he can sense the trace of longing that coils around me as I watch them. It looks…well…fun, and it occurs to me that’s a feeling I haven’t properly explored for a long time.
“Not with you here,” I shoot back. As if I’d ever be able to relax with him squatting in my head.
“Well, hello.”
I snap my gaze around to find a male demon looking down at me.
He’s tall, though not as tall as Syrus, and leaner too.
His eyes are black, his skin a dark purple like Asterim’s, with fangs glinting at the corners of his smile.
The presence in my head stiffens, alert like a wolf catching an unfamiliar scent.
The purple-skinned demon says something else then. It’s more than a greeting, and I shouldn’t fully understand it because it’s in Cyrax—just like his hello, I realize—and yet I can parse parts of it. Something about him not having seen me around here before, I think.
“Er, hello,” I reply with an awkward smile.
The demon tilts his head, confused.
“Looks like a Stratan, talks like a Stratan,” he says in the common tongue, dragging his eyes over me. “Is roleplay something you’re into?” he asks. “Because I could be into that too, you know.” He leans forward and winks.
The presence in my head actually growls.
“What a sad, slimy excuse for a demon,” Syrus drawls in a tone much more casual than his pacing about in my mind would suggest.
Luckily, instead of having to answer either male, Asterim comes to my rescue. “I see you’ve met my protégée here,” she says to the tall demon with an easy smile, throwing a protective arm around my waist. “She’s mireborn, pretty fresh out the lake. She can’t speak Cyrax yet.”
“And you brought her here?” He grins, his fangs glinting in the lamplight as his gaze falls on me again. “Eager to have fun, were we?”
I can feel Syrus roll his eyes. “Sweet darkness, I hope that’s not the best he’s got.”
“Shush,” I say, concentrating on smiling at the demon so he doesn’t get suspicious. “I’m just here to take in some of the sights.”
He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Surely you are the sights, beautiful.”
I blink, not able to come up with a quick response due to the retching noise being made at the back of my mind.
Then a force takes hold of my tongue, pushing words out of my mouth, low and rough.
“Unfortunately, I’m not going to see anything with your loathsome face in the way,” I say, totally at the mercy of Syrus’s magic.
The demon’s face falls, and he takes a step back. “Wow. You know, you’re awfully new to Infernum to be such a bitch,” he snaps. “And by the way, that whole mire look is so not working for you.” Then he turns and storms off into the crowd.
“Rude,” Asterim tuts, turning to wave at another friend across the room. “Although there are easier ways to let a man down, darling.”
I can’t answer her, too distracted by the smug bastard laughing in my mind.
“That wasn’t funny,” I huff.
“What?” He stops laughing, an edge to his voice. “Don’t tell me you actually found that miscreant attractive?”